


Five hundred thirty-eight

by jijal



Series: A quarter in inches [1]
Category: BTOB
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-05-09 20:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jijal/pseuds/jijal
Summary: “Well, he can’t stay there forever," Sungjae shoots back, optimistic—naïvelike always.





	1. Five hundred thirty-eight

“The skirt is supposed to be this short,” Sungjae says, “Have you even seen  _one_  episode of the show?”

“No. And I sure as hell won’t start now,” Changsub retorts, as he scans Sungjae’s outfit another time. He thought things couldn’t get any worse when Sungjae finally won over the baby pink coloured crop-top he had been fighting to put on, but Sungjae, being Sungjae, was more than happy to prove Changsub wrong, pulling out tights, a pair of suspenders and what turned out to be a high-waisted, black skirt from the depths of his side of the wardrobe a second later. Changsub couldn’t bring himself to return the excited grin Sungjae gave him as he laid all the pieces out on their bed, and prayed for a miracle to happen and for Sungjae to revert to his earlier plan.

“I liked your first idea better,” Changsub mutters as he turns back around to the mirror, fumbling with the collar of his own, nearly not as exciting costume, while trying to ignore the sight of Sungjae doing a quick spin behind him, overly delighted to see the fabric of the skirt defying gravity for a moment. He nods, obviously satisfied with its performance, sits down on the bed and starts pulling the tights up his legs.

“Minhyuk hyung wouldn’t even know who I’m dressed up as, though. He hasn’t seen the new movie yet. — Maybe we should get him the DVD for Christmas or something, so that he can catch up."

“—Or we can all watch it here at ours if he’s, you know, back home by then," Sungjae adds, but Changsub averts his gaze from where their eyes had been locked in the mirror down to his hands.

“Minhyuk hyung is far from back on his feet,” he says, and Sungjae falls completely silent, still, no more sounds of nylon brushing against cotton bedsheets. “Stuff like that… it takes time.”

“Well, he can’t stay there forever," Sungjae shoots back, optimistic— _naïve_ like always.

“Sungjae,” Changsub sighs, directed at the sleeve of his shirt he’s almost finished rolling up, but he thinks better of it and swallows the heavy words back down. He doesn’t have the heart to drag Sungjae down a hole, to force reality onto him when he’s obviously perfected the art of keeping it at arm’s length. If anything, Changsub wishes he could do the same, or escape it altogether, until things start making sense again.

“Can you help me with these?”

Sungjae startles Changsub out of his thoughts, standing right behind him and holding up the suspenders to complete his outfit. Changsub turns around and attaches them to the waistband at the back of his skirt for him, making sure they’re equally distanced and evenly positioned on either side, before his arms snake around Sungjae’s waist. He buries his face into his shoulder and lets out a troubled breath against the soft fabric of the obnoxiously cute crop-top. Sungjae leans into the touch in a heartbeat, warm hands clasping Changsub’s.

“Let’s just have a good time tonight, okay,” he says into the silence, thick and stifling between them, reminding Changsub that there is more to do than worry about the future.


	2. Nothing's changed (but it's never quite the same)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minhyuk is warmth, lonely nights and the scent of hospital detergent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alexa write anything but gloomy fluff challenge failed; title from come home by julia and the doogans (repost)

Greeted by a tired smile and Minhyuk shifting into a more upright position on his bed, Ilhoon steps inside and slowly closes the door behind him.

“Still on bedrest?” he asks, dropping his bag in the corner by the door and making his way over to Minhyuk, who draws in a sharp breath and gives a resigned nod in response. Ilhoon pecks him on the lips and gives his hand a tight squeeze as he pulls the chair as close to Minhyuk as possible and sits down next to him.

“Your hair looks nice,” Minhyuk says, his eyes flickering from Ilhoon’s newly trimmed hair down to his face and back up again. Ilhoon hums back low in his throat, and leans in to rest his head on Minhyuk’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles his face into the thin fabric of Minhyuk’s T-shirt. He breathes in the familiar mixture of hospital detergent, disinfectant, lonely nights and Minhyuk’s scent, the piece of home that has been missing, has left their apartment incomplete, empty and unsettlingly cold for the last three eternities, while the soothing warmth radiating off of Minhyuk’s body pulls Ilhoon in and wraps around him, and he wishes they could stay like this forever.

“Felt like changing things up a bit, I don't want you to get bored of me,” he mumbles, and a small chuckle escapes Minhyuk's throat, his free hand threading through Ilhoon's hair and the steady rise and fall of his chest making Ilhoon forget about the world outside of Minhyuk’s room. The sounds of distant conversations in the hallway, traffic on the busy street right in front of the window all pale in comparison to Minhyuk’s soft breathing and the way he soaks up the bad energy clinging to Ilhoon and gives room to  _be_  and nothing else. No forced small talk, no one to fake a smile for, Ilhoon wishes he could put some of the peace in a jar and take it home with him, only slowly using it up until he gets to see him again; time stops with Minhyuk, and yet they can’t get enough of it, Ilhoon getting ushered out of the room by the first nurse to spot him twenty minutes after visiting hours are over every time, earning himself an unhappy, scolding frown but never more and letting go of Minhyuk’s hand eventually with one last smile and a promise to text him over his shoulder on his way out. It got worryingly easier with each visit, leaving the hospital and returning to their apartment and with it everyday life that didn’t stop for Ilhoon, went on without mercy and forced him to pretend his whole life hadn’t been turned upside down from one second to the other, and leaving Minhyuk with little to do apart from going to therapy, doctors’ appointments and the group sessions he feels silly for attending.

"What's on your mind?” Ilhoon asks softly, reluctant to break the silence. He props up his head on Minhyuk’s shoulder and scans his face for all the answers he’ll never give, notices his tired, bloodshot eyes and the skin beneath them, a purple so dark Ilhoon’s chest tightens. He damns himself for not picking up on it earlier, wonders how a smile could hide that much. “Are you nervous?”

Minhyuk nods, his gaze fixed on their hands resting in his lap, fingers still intertwined.

“You'll be okay,” Ilhoon says, placing a kiss to Minhyuk’s shoulder and shoving the doubts and worries aside to deal with sometime, somewhere else. “Just be patient and give yourself time to adjust. We’ll figure out the rest.”

Some of the tension leaving Minhyuk’s shoulders, his lips pull up into a small smile and he breathes out a quiet _okay_ , as he finds comfort in the calm and reassurance that is Ilhoon, as close to Minhyuk as possible and their hands resting in his lap, fingers still intertwined.


End file.
